Dr John Watson and Mr Sherlock Holmes
by lucyqueue
Summary: Follow Dr. Watson and Mr.Holmes through their adventures.
1. Chapter 1

Watching him is like watching an old clock, ticking away. Except with an old clock you can actually see the gears turning and working through all the small details that give one output: the time. His face is blank and most of his body is stiff. He sits in his favorite chair in the small flat, and I in mine. He stares ahead, his elbows perched on the arms on the chair, his finger tips tapping one another in silence. My legs are crossed and I know I should be focusing on the case but he is just so interesting to watch. When he's like this I take in the sight, for he is rarely idle for this long. It's fascinating. My lips twitch as I catch myself staring and I quickly push my gaze to the mantel in front of us. His music stand is out and towards the side of it, full of scribbled bits of a new composition he had been working on, but he had put his violin away by the time I arrived home. I exhale softly and glance at him again. He's on his feet and so I quickly scramble to mine.

"You've got it?"

He gives me a sideways glance, a small but evident upturn of his lips.

"Of course I've got it." He replies, deep voice echoing throughout the room. "I've always got it, John. I have always got it."

He pulls out his phone, fingers moving swiftly over the key pad, undoubtedly texting Lestrade. He slips the small device into his trousers pocket and walks silently to the door grabbing his coat. He slides it on over his pure white button up and looks to me, catching my eye. To this day, he still amazes me. He raises his eyebrows at me and I scurry behind him grabbing my own ratty coat. He tucks his scarf around his neck.

"Don't forget your gloves." He tells me, as I pull them out of my coat pocket.

"How could I ever?" I reply with a smile.

I look at his smile, smooth and charming. In a flash he's down the steps and I'm behind him. I catch Mrs. Hudson as we head out the door, letting her know we'll be gone a while, I think, if I know Sherlock. I roll my eyes at her with a smile and shut the door after me. By the time I'm on the street, Sherlock has hailed us a cab and is telling the driver some sort of address that I only hear half of. It seems to me he always reveals his greatest findings when we're in the back of a cab.

"On with it then." I challenge, glancing at him, and then the cabbie who, gratefully, seems very uninterested in the two of us. Only his fare seems to be on his mind as he's going about four kilometers slower than any other cabbie might be going. I let out a small but sharp exhale. I've done it again. Spending the last year with Sherlock has sharpened my reasoning skills, without a doubt. He's definitely had an influence on me. I like to think I've had one on him, but honestly who has ever influenced Sherlock? Except for... The Woman. I shudder quietly to myself as I remember the dark days that followed our discovery of Irene Adler.

I jump when his hand grabs my shoulder. My gaze jerks back to him, but his face is close to mine, examining me, searching my face to see if he can read the thoughts deep inside my head. When he can't, he lets his gloved finger trace down my cheek.

"Pupils dilated. Are you alright?" He asks gently.

"I-i.." I stutter, not sure how to respond. But before I can get any words out the cabbie butts in.

"Look, guys, if you want to have a go at one another at least wait until you're out of my cab, okay?" He glance in the rear view, furry eyebrows scrunched together in a look that represents confusion and apprehension.

"No, we're not a couple." Sherlock steals the words from my mouth. _Even though I believe we should be. _I think to myself. He's still staring at me, awaiting my answer. I finally nod, clearing my throat as I meet his gaze, the lights from the busy city of London flashing over our faces as we whiz past them. The cabbie seems to have gained some speed now.

"I'm just fine, Sherlock." I tell him. He sits back against his seat and starts his speech over from the beginning. I know he finds it tedious to repeat, but I find it tedious when he won't tell he of his massive deductive reasoning skills.

"Now, Martha Jutsing was a secretary for Mr. Kattlemen, who had a wife and two children. It was apparent to every one in all of London that they were having some kind of affair, even to his oldest daughter. Now she's only fourteen but she's old enough to shoot a gun, now isn't she? After pretending to be sick in front of her mother, she hid in her fathers car with one of his many handguns. When he arrived to work that morning and then left later that afternoon with a woman who was not her mother, she shot Martha. No emotions. She loved her mother and was mad with her father and the best to remedy to situation was to shoot the woman that was going to ruin their family. She did do it, John. I know she did, unfortunately."

The cab is very quiet for a moment and he looks back at me.

"Aren't you going to ask how I knew that?" He questions me, those eyes penetrating mine once again.

"Ahem, yes, alright then, tell me." I reply, squaring my shoulders against the old but still put together leather seats of our cab. It's getting a little warm in here, the cabbie having put on the heat. I glance at him, and then turn my head entirely.

"Nail polish." He says simply. I glance at him, a small purse of my lips and the question in my eyes begs his next answer.

"There was chippings of nail polish all in the back seat of the car. They were small but not too small. There were also small fragments in the folds of Martha's clothes where the daughter realized she had gone horribly wrong and held the wound tightly to try to stop the bleeding. Her father watched for a few seconds and then tried to help as well. But Martha died. She didn't make it and there is no way on earth a father would let his fourteen year old daughter go to jail. He twisted the facts so that if her body ever turned up he would get blamed instead of her." He pauses, glancing out the window as he can tell we're getting close to where ever we're headed.

"Every other detective in the universe would believe that it was him. But you deduce that it's the daughter because of flecks of nail polish?" I ask, looking at him.

"Pink nail polish." He confirms. His phone pings and he fishes it out of his pocket, an interesting sight since he's seated and buckled in. Once it's out he reads the message aloud.

"'Girl confessed, wore pink nails to the station. Top notch again. Lestrade.'"

I smile as the cab comes to a stop. My smart Sherlock. I open the door and slide out onto the cold street. At a first I'm unaware of my surroundings so when Sherlock finally joins my side after paying the fare I am very thankful. I feel more safe with him than I do carrying my gun on my hip.

"What are we doing?" I ask, seeing the short puffs of breath expel into the cold air around us.

"Dinner." He says gently, walking off down the street towards the busy city lights.

I shrug once again, following him without question. It is now that I realize I would follow this man to the ends of the earth if he asked me. If he didn't ask me, I would probably follow him anyways. I can feel the heat from this thought crawling up my cheeks and I'm hoping the nippy air will account for the new shades of red in my face. I swallow and catch up to him, matching his pace rather easily. Something feels different about this night. A night where anything can happen and I hope anything does.


	2. Chapter 2

**John Watson**

The cafe itself is quiet and I can't help but glance around. It's Friday night in the middle of London, this place should be bustling with locals and tourists. But instead we find a table rather quickly in the shrouded corner of restaurant. Our waiter wobbles up to us, obviously having had a long night already, and I order two cups of tea, knowing if Sherlock talks we'll get a nice bit of saliva in our food tonight. I look around, all of the lighting is soft and all of the tables are covered with a decorative but cheap material. Someone is trying hard to make this place look more put together than it normally is. The waiter returns with our tea, setting down some sugar and milk as well. Glancing at me, he tells us he'll return shortly to take our order. We acknowledge accordingly.

"What are you thinking of having?" He asks me, his soft voice still penetrating my chest in the quiet room. He knows what I like, he's asking to see if I'll switch it up a bit this time.

"I think I'll have the soup." I comment back, meeting his gaze as I set the menu aside. The light flickers in his eyes and I have to physically pull my own eyes to something else in the room. The paintings on the walls aren't done particularly well, seemingly to match the rest of the building in that aspect. I've never been here before, but it's obviously Sherlock has. He hasn't even picked up his menu and yet I see a contented look on his face as his eyes search the dining area for our somewhat sloppy waiter.

"I knew you would say that. I'll have that as well." He states, and I watch him carefully as his mouth sips the brown liquid from the small cup. His face is soft, but his features are always so hard, so observant. I don't want to know everything that runs through his mind as I imagine pretty much everything does.

"Have I got something on my face?" He asks, his hand suddenly touching mine as my thoughts are jumbled and pushed aside. The thin fingers roll over the top of my hand and I try desperately to keep my heart rate at a normal pace. I clear my throat move the touched hand to grab my tea.

"No, no. I just thought I saw something on the teacup. It was nothing though." I reassure him, nodding carefully. The waiter walks up sooner rather than later and takes our order. I give him a small smile, hoping to myself lighten his mood but it doesn't seem to work. My lower lip pouts out for a second before Sherlock turns, facing the window.

"Do you know what today is, John?" He turns back to me, square and strong shoulders facing me. _He's so thin. _I exhale softly, and begin to look around brainstorming as to what today could be. It's Tuesday, September 12th, 2012. I glance up at him, he's sat back against his chair and folded his arms. He's waiting on me to figure it out. I know him by now, what he does when he's waiting for answers that only a certain person can give him. Of course he already knows the answers but refuses to give them up. He wants to hear the words escape their lips.

Then it hits me. My lips turn into a wistful smile. I meet his gaze and lean forward on the table. I let my elbows support my chin. The tip of my tongue licks the edge of my mouth.

"One year ago today, we moved into our flat together." I say triumphantly. I watch his reaction. It's not what I had hoped. A small pang of guilt, I think, twitches in his eyes as he learns forward as well. That's not what he was talking about. _Great, I've blown it now. _I exhale softly, my heart feeling like someone has wrapped a tight knot around it.

"What day is it?" I dare ask, in the softest of whispers, eyes wide with...vulnerability. I'm nervous as to what he's going to say. I'm completely unsure of what type of Sherlock I'm going to receive next.

**Sherlock **

_Eyes dilated, pulse elevated, holding his breath. By God, he's exceptional. _I'm taken a little aghast at his remembering of the day we moved into together. It was an important date, and I should have remembered. But for so long I've thought of nothing but cases, murders and mystery. My brain is stuck on that function and for as long as I can remember it's best that way. No deep emotions, nothing concrete. _Except for John. _He's still staring at me as I jumble through the vast knowledge in my head. Today is Mycroft's birthday. It wasn't a big deal to either of us, really, but I thought it should be nice if we stopped by and give him our condolences on turning another year older.

But now that I think about it...

_ It was late afternoon, just after lunch. I was working in the lab, some strange case or another. Stamford brought the man into the lab, and I immediately knew what he was there for. I'd mentioned earlier that I'd needed a flatmate but I wasn't sure Stamford would come through so quickly. I remember seeing him for the first time. He had a limp, though I suspected that was slightly psychological. But he seemed...different. Different from all the other people I've ever met. All of the selfish people who only want things in the world for themselves. But in this man, Dr. John Watson, I saw nothing but..innocence. A man who had dedicated his life to saving those around him. That much I could deduce in the first few seconds, there was more of course. Not married, in the army, recently returned home, living alone, the list goes on and on. _

"Sherlock?" His voice saying my name makes my heart race for a moment, before I push my thoughts to the reality that is in front of me. I'm usually not so distracted but with John, I can't help it. After clearing my throat:

"Yes, sorry John, thoughts for a new case were forming..." I pause.. "Today is Mycroft's birthday." I inform him, taking a careful look into his soft gray eyes. They twinge with a small amount of pain and that in turn pains me. Before he can say anything, I continue.

"I was going to suggest we pay him a visit, but since you've been kind enough to remind me that it is, for all intensive purposes, our one year anniversary we should get something a little stronger than tea, if you don't mind." He smiles, knowing I rarely indulge in alcohol. But tonight it's worth it. Seeing the smile on John's face makes me want to reach my hand across the table and hold his, but before I can make a move, the waiter returns to the table with our soup. It feels like hours have passed since he's taken our order. He sets the bowls down in front of us with a harsh warning to let them cool for a few moments. I quickly ask him for a couple ales and he obliges, returning moments later with two glasses that are full to the brim.

"I want to propose a toast." I state, holding my glass up. He promptly lifts his own glass and taps it against mine. I can tell his smile is genuine and it makes my heart flutter. I let my tongue run over my bottom lip as I think of the words to say how I feel about this date in our time line.

"John, you're my best friend, and tonight, I drink to you." I say gently, tapping my glass against his. With that, I raise it to my lips and swallow the strong liquid. It burns all the way down my throat and I've missed that feeling. I finish it within moments and signal the waiter for another. John, on the other hand, seems to be taking his time with his drink, cherishing each sip as he watches me. I find myself examining him as well. He has premature wrinkles around his beautiful eyes, and his face is weathered from the extremes of war. He's gorgeous, I conclude. The waiter brings me my second drink and I sip this one more slowly, actually enjoying the taste. By the time I'm finished with this one, John has finished his first and getting another. I smile to myself, unaware of the bubbling feelings inside me. Is this what happiness feels like? I haven't been this kind of happy in a long time. I set my glass aside and by instinct the waiter refills it. I nod my head towards him as John pushes his half empty glass away. He watches me carefully and in my inebriated state, I attempt to analyze his face. But, I can't. The words I usually see become blurred and for the first time in my life I'm actually okay with that. I know John will take care of me. He always has before.

**John**

I watch Sherlock down his third drink and smile as his stories about his cases before me become more and more animated. I could sit and listen to him talk forever but as I check my wristwatch, it's now somewhere between midnight and one in the morning. We'll have to be up early to begin to screen more clients from his website, should the police not come to us with a new case. I pick up the tab for Sherlock since he obviously can't handle himself right now. Although, even in this state, he seems acutely aware of things around him, things he would normally keep to himself. 

"She's having an affair." He states as we pass a couple on our way out the door.

"You can tell because she's all dressed up for him. She has on a wedding band but he doesn't. She must have forgotten to remove it before coming out to meet him. She's obviously not his wife but he doesn't seem to mind." I grab Sherlock's hand and try to pull him away from the table but he continues on his rant.

"Did she tell you she was gonna leave him for you?" He asks, pointing at the man. It's at this point I find the strength to pull him away, putting myself between him and the once happy couple. I keep his hand firmly locked in mine as we make our way out onto the street. It feels like there are more people out now than there were a short hour or two ago. Or maybe it just feels that way because I'm holding another grown man's hand and they're now staring. I find myself not caring and hail us a cab rather quickly, quite sure that if I don't get Sherlock home and in bed soon, I'll not hear the end of it soon enough.

We climb into the cab within minutes and I give the cabbie our address. He grunts some sort of response as I buckle Sherlock in. As I lean in to do so, his fingers find my face, touching it gently, skin on skin. There isn't the barrier of his gloves anymore and that makes my cheeks glow red. I clear my throat and sit back against the seat. We'll be home soon and I'll put him to bed. Then, in the morning, everything will have returned to normal. But then again, maybe I hope things will stay changed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sherlock**

_My body is heavy and I'm unaware of my absolute surroundings. Recall, Sherlock, recall the night before... _Oh. I remember. I exhale softly and turn to my side, the pristine white sheet falling off my body. The movement causes my head to spin. In the moment of disorientation I realize the presence of someone around me. My hands grip into the fitted sheet and I balance myself. Then I see him. I exhale gently.

John is sleeping peacefully beside me and as I watch him the events from the night before come forward and shroud my mind. I let them take hold of me.

_John had gotten us into the cab. I remember him leaning over me to buckle me in. I remember thinking to myself that I could easily take care of myself but at the same time I wanted him close to me, and I wanted to touch him. The cabbie dropped us off and John got out first. He paid the man and then stumbled around to the other side of cab, my side, and opened the door. He grabbed my hand and helped me out. The taxi was gone in a flash. John had a tight grip on me though. He tugged me up onto the curb and as he unlocked the door, I remember smiling, thinking to myself what a wonderful man he was. I headed up the two stairs into the bottom level of the flat and trip into John's arms. He catches me. He's strong and he holds me close. "Everything is okay." He whispers to me, his fingers running along the back of my neck. I find my gaze meets his and in this moment of complete vulnerability, I kiss him. His lips are softer than I imagine, and the taste like a strange mix of ale and tea. I don't feel him kiss back, but then he does, and it's something magical, I believe. After a few brief moments, he speaks. "Well, right then." He shuts the front door, dead bolting it in a matter of seconds. He waits for me to pass him, guiding my hand to the railing as he follows close behind making sure I won't fall backward. He shuts the door at the top of the steps and locks it as well. I stand and watch him, "Will you stay with me tonight?" I hear the words escape my mouth before I even think them through. "Are you sure?" He asks me. By this time I've had a little time to think about what I've just offered. This second question makes me think a little bit more. But after a moment or so, I nod, looking at him. "I don't want to be alone tonight." I announce, heading into my bedroom. _

**John**

I can feel him stirring beside me. I let my eyes flutter open and he's facing away from me. _Good._ I exhale softly and admire him from behind. He's not naked but he's not completely clothed either. The muscles on his shoulders are strong and prominent which is perplexing to me because I never see him workout.

I watch him as he sits still. _He's thinking about last night. _A small smile works its way to my lips as the memories of the night before wash over me.

_"I don't want to be alone tonight." He had said. Plain and simple. But I hesitated in following him into the room. Were we ready for this? Was 'this' even a thing? I was completely unsure whatever was going to happen next, if anything. But now I find my best friend and the man I care about needs my comfort and that is what I should do. _

_"Just gonna pop up and change." I tell him as I stick my head into his room, catching him in his boxers and undershirt. The sight is unnerving...and very sexy. I clear my throat and decide if that's what he's going to wear it should be okay if I'm in the same thing. I step into the room and begin to strip down, folding my outer clothes diligently. I pile all of my clothes on a chair off to the side. I turn back to face the bed and Sherlock is right there in front of me. He startles me, but he grabs my shoulders to steady me. _

_"Thank you, John." He whispers as he pulls me into a hug. His chest is strong and warm against mine. After a few moments I pull away._

_"Right then, Sherlock, let's make it to bed." I remind him gently. I can't take much more of this. Sherlock has a way of making all of my wildest emotions bubble to the surface. I've not had these emotions for so long. I couldn't find them in any previous relationships, not with Sarah... I shake the sad memory from my head. No use. She wasn't what I needed. _

_In these few moments of thought Sherlock has slipped into the bed and is looking at me anxiously. I step lightly then, following him. I climb into the unused side of the bed and I pull the covers over my body. I just now realize how dead tired and cold I am. As if he can read my mind, and at this point in our relationship I'm sure he can, he pulls me into his arms, my head resting just beneath his chin. I don't argue, don't push away. I simply close my eyes and let it be. _

_"Goodnight, John." The soft rasping of his thick voice deters me for a moment. _

_"Goodnight, Sherlock." I reply as I feel his lips press to my temple. _

**Sherlock**

He's awake, I note, by the sound of his abnormal breathing. When he sleeps his breathing is deep and proper. Now that he's awake, I turn to look at him, slipping my legs back under the cover. I take a moment to examine him. _Tired but happy. Not upset. Not as hungover as I am. _A small smile twitches my lips. Inquisitive_ look on his face, he wonders if I remember the I taste of his lips. He's somewhat...uncomfortable, as he's clutching the comforter towards his body. _

_"_Good morning John." I say to him, a small headache pounding in my left temple. His smile makes the pain disappear for a moment.

"'Morning, Sherlock." He replies, voice softly eating away at my heart. Heat fills my cheeks as I'm tempted to lean over and kiss him. But, I don't. I fear as enjoyable as last night was it may have been a mistake

"John, we should probably talk about last night. I find the events that have led us to this morning are complicated and numerous." I pause, trying to choose the next words carefully.

"You're an important aspect to my life, John. I find my life, as you've noticed, is extremely dangerous. It's one thing for you to be a...friend." I see his eyebrows tip upwards with interest. I've never called him a friend.

"People who are friends with me find themselves in more danger than they realize. Should Moriarty ever find out we were ever more... you'd be fair game and I'm not letting that happen, John." I can see the understanding on his face, but it doesn't completely mask the pain.

"Can we at least have today?" He asks softly, sitting up in the bed, looking at me with eyes so pleading. "Can we have today to be everything we will ever want to be? Then...nothing else. I'd die for you, Sherlock, but I can't do that if I'm dead." He states quietly, letting his hand touch my arm.

I think quietly, a blank slate for a face. I swallow and push him down on the bed, climbing on top of him, letting my lips find his neck, and then his chin, and then his own lips. They feel softer now than they did before, more inviting and warm.

His lips feel like home.

_ John is home._


	4. Chapter 4

_**John **_

_ Is this really happening? _I think to myself, feeling his lips on mine in the moment of something that cannot be described other than perfection. It takes me a moment to realize the full weight of the words I had just whispered to him. The rime felt right. He probably has known how I've felt for some time now. He is, after all, Sherlock Holmes. That thought makes my heart skip a beat. _Has he known? _A small smile crosses my lips. But I've got no time to dwell on the past right now. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, and that makes my hair stand on end. This is way more enjoyable than I have ever imagined. _And this isn't the part I'm nervous about._

I swallow and let my lips find his, kissing him more deeply than I had intended. The shuddering moan I elicit from him lets me know that he seems to be quite fine with that. In turn he kisses me back, more passionately than I had expected. It's my turn to let out a low moan and when I do, he pulls away, face still, and quiet as he observes me. I look at him, not sure what to say.

"Right then, sorry. You, ah, you surprised me just a little there." I clear my throat and gaze up at him. I swallow and let my fingers trace down his skin, pulling his chin to mine as I kiss him again, more excitedly this time, more intense. In his moment of weakness, I take control. I'm not used to this, but I'm used to him. His movements are second nature to my own. As I take the chance to flip us over, I end up on top of him, knees on either side of his hips. I can see the surprise on his face. This is an emotion that is completely new to me. _He's gorgeous. _

In an instant his hand is on the back of my neck, pull my face back down to him. But he doesn't kiss me, and the amount of force he uses to do this isn't much. He's very gentle with me. Instead of pulling my lips to his, he let's my head rest on his chest for a moment. The feeling is glorious; and then he speaks.

"John, I've never felt this way about anyone." He says quietly, deep voice still echoing in his chest. The sound is music to my ear. He's kept his hand on my head, fingers fiddling in my hair with his other hand caressing my back. I let my eyes closed, desperate not to fall asleep, not now. I feel his fingers lightly touch the skin on my temple.

"Don't fall asleep.." He whispers, pressing his lips to the top of my head. My heart pounds against my chest, throat clogging as I feel like I'm on the verge of tears. I inhale deeply and push the overwhelming feelings aside. I lean back up onto my knees, touching his shoulders and sliding my fingers down his arms. I want him, I want to see him, I want him to want me just as badly. My cheeks flush a deep crimson as I grip the edge of his undershirt, pulling it over his head in a quick movement. His entire body is perfect. Smooth skin, soft dark brown chest hairs, muscular shoulders.

I'm admiring as I suddenly grow self conscious. Although I've kept myself in great shape, I feel I'll be less than what he expects. He does expect a lot from all of the people around him. I swallow, deciding to focus on him in this moment and cross that bridge when we come to it. If we ever do. I have to believe that if he's willing to give me today, he's thought about this moment for a long while. He rarely makes decisions without doing so.

For now, I feel his strong hands roam over my shoulders. His gentle fingers grip my biceps and trace over the small but defined muscles that accompany them. His thumbs slip under the snug fabric of my undershirt and give my skin a soft rub. It gives me shivers that no woman had ever given me before.

_**Sherlock**_

_His arms are wonderful. His whole body is wonderful. _I had often wondered what it looked like under this khaki trousers and adorable sweaters. A lot of people we knew teased him for them, but I have always found them charming and unique. _Charming... _John was extremely charming with his crooked smile and his sandy brown bangs on his forehead. I've never seen a person so handsome.

It's not like women weren't attractive to me. I've seen plenty of attractive women but they always came with so much baggage. They we're soft, yes, and sweet. They smelled nice but then again, so did John. His personality was soft as well as his touch. His years of being a doctor guaranteed him a gentle touch and a kind voice. John always wore the most perfect cologne. It wasn't heavy or thick like some perfumes. I loved it.

My mind is races as my hands grip his arms. They're so strong and defined. I swallow, letting my teeth graze my bottom lip as I meet his eyes. _He's perfect. _John looks so nervous. I run through the list in my head: _eyes dilated, heavy breathing, small beads of sweat, rapid heart beat, it's endless._I look down at him, pushing my lips to his once again.

Through the kiss, I whisper, "Don't be afraid. This is new to both of us."

With that, I pull off his shirt, quick and a little rough. I need to see his bare chest, kiss it. I toss it aside and let my lips move from his neck down his chest. He's gorgeous. I exhale a soft moan against the skin before moving my lips back to his mouth. In the time it takes me to slip my tongue past his lips, my hands have found his boxers. I pull back, looking down at his face, giving the tight fabric around his waist a small tug. I quickly glance back to his face to gauge his reaction. _Pleasantly surprised. _I smile back at him, sliding the garment down and off his legs. I feel his body jerk lightly.

I lean down to his ear, kissing it with a small bite, "Excited, are we?" I groan.

_Everything is going to according to plan. _


End file.
